by Carl Henegan
“Yes, it’s for you,” Kelly said.
The confused expression remained as he took the phone.
“Yes this is Michael Andrews,” he answered. He paused before allowing an alleviation of his stiff expression. “Oh ok buddy. Well daddy is happy to hear that you learned how to use caller ID, but this is not daddy’s phone so-,” Another long pause. “You did?”
Mike’s facial features hardened. His forehead tightened as the look on Mike’s face went from concern to worry then back again. In the end his face turned pale as the blood ran from the surface of his skin causing it to lose its color. Whatever Mike’s son told him, placed an enormous degree of trepidation right across his soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The general manager of Hotel Metropol Moscow preformed his final walk through inspection. Yuri Podkopaw paced the interior with his hands folded behind his back. A hotel staff of three followed him closely quickly jumping to adjust or fix anything he spotted that was out of place. Under Yuri’s keen eye, something was always out of place.
No matter how much they claimed to be prepared, Yuri always managed to find something. It could be as small as a portrait out of alignment or a towel folded incorrectly. If it was there he would find it and took pride in his unique ability. Yuri Podkopaw would review copies of hotel advertisements for accuracy.
On this occasion he took his meticulous ways to the next level. A very special guest would arrive soon and Yuri wanted the room to be beyond perfect. After pacing through the entire presidential suite he did it once more carefully scrutinizing every inch of the room’s décor.
He inspected the drawing room again first. With a white glove he moved his finger across the early twentieth century furniture. With a magnifying glass he viewed the fine lines carved into the mahogany arms of the antique sofa.
Once satisfied with the furniture, the room itself was inspected carefully. He checked the hand painted walls for flawless consistency. The ceiling, molding, and corners were looked over with his detailed oriented eyes.
He moved on to inspect the large bedroom of the presidential suite. The richly designed pure white and silver comforter had to be thoroughly scrutinized for minor tears or wrinkles. After inspecting the bed he made sure that the sheets and comforter were made to perfection. The white silk throw pillow was adjusted to sit dead center at the top of the bed with the points heading directly north and south.
The last on Yuri’s list entailed him doing a repeated look at the key pieces in the room. These included the antique gilded mantelpiece clock, the “Harvest of Grapes” painting by a nineteenth century Italian artist, and the solid gold ice bucket carved with the Hotel Metropol’s logo.
Inside the ice bucket sat a complimentary bottle of 1998 La Grande Dame. Yuri placed the bottle there because he knew that it was a known favorite of the hotel’s special guest. When perfectly satisfied Yuri left the room then made a call to the hotel’s driver.
The driver answered but was already well on his way to the Sheremetyevo International airport. Yuri gave the driver a number of questions to make sure that every aspect of the visit was in ideal order. Although the Metropol remained Garcia’s favorite hotel, it was Yuri’s job to make sure that it stayed that way.
Just two hours and fifteen minutes after Yuri spoke to the driver, flight 316 on Aeroflot Russian Airlines arrived right on schedule. Garcia once again arrived from his frequently taken six thousand mile trip.
* * *
Seated in first class, Martin Garcia engulfed himself in his fifth glass of Chopin vodka and another chapter of the world according to Sun Tzu. After exiting the plane he stretched then kissed the airline stewardess on the hand. She passed him her phone number during the flight and they were to meet up later. He walked through the connecting tunnel spotting the sharply dressed hotel driver up front holding the sign that read, Al Khan.
Like most high profile individuals, Garcia also used an alias when checking into hotels or being picked up by drivers. Garcia insisted on the protocol, far too many potential enemies lurked around. His frequently chosen alias of Al Khan derived from a combination of two of the people he admired, Al Capone and Genghis Khan.
The limo drive to the hotel brought back many memories, all of them good. The historical sites of the Kremlin and Red Square never seemed to grow old and he looked forward to the sites each time he visited Russia.
The desire to get closer to the sights overwhelmed him. He felt tempted to have the driver drop him off at Kitai-gorod known as the merchant quarter. He wanted to stroll through the area even if only for a few moments. Yet the ephemeral attributes of time would not allow the opportunity to smell the roses. An immediate need to get to the hotel and rest for the tournament took priority for now.
When the car pulled up Garcia spotted Yuri waiting at the curb. He opened the rear car door. “Ahhh- Mr. Garcia, welcome back to the Hotel Metropol.” Yuri smiled. “Such a pleasure to have you with us again.”
The menial job of opening the car door for arriving guest fell far beneath his duties. But that did not apply to this occasion. For his most treasured guest, opening his car door remained a privilege.
“Hello to you Yuri,” Garcia said exiting the limo. “You’re looking well my friend.”
Yuri’s youthful appearance differed from his early sixties actual age. As the general manager of the Hotel Metropol, he ran the daily operation for well over a decade and he was never hard to spot. His attire reflected the immaculately detailed perfection of his hotel.
One would never find him in public without his tailored suit, perfectly placed silk handkerchief, and designer tie. His freshly cut hair sat without a single hair out of place. He combed it back with the majority of its silver color blended in with fading black streaks. His naturally tanned skin tone looked fresh as if he was just off of an extended vacation.
“It’s always you sir who inspires my attire. You are always impeccably dressed and today is no exception,” Yuri replied with a slight bow at the waist.
When Garcia called ahead he knew that his accommodations were guaranteed simply because Yuri said so. Anyone who knew Yuri knew that he was a man of his word. Yuri’s sincere compliment flattered anyone, including Garcia. Yuri’s staff teasing joked that they would take Yuri’s word over a promise from the Pope.
Garcia took Yuri’s catering with guarded relevance. Yuri’s admiration of him reached much further then his VIP status at the Metropol. Yuri often asked hushed questions about the darker world that Garcia was not only privy to but ruled.
Even without an entourage, Garcia felt his commanding presence whenever he visited the Metropol. The power extended beyond the VIP suite. He heard the whispers, the hushed whispers that spoke with respectful admiration of Garcia’s dark side.
As they walked through the main entrance it was always the same. Garcia noticed how the eyes of the men would look at him then lowered their heads before look away. The women would stare and make a concerted effort to be noticed by him.
“How does it feel Mr. Garcia?” Yuri whispered. “To be revered, you do see it don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” Garcia smiled. “It’s an intangible sensation that never grows old. It can be artificially mimicked but never duplicated unless you are willing to take a long dark walk that you will always embrace and always regret.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Stories of Garcia stints at the Metropol grew to legendary levels. The casino attached to the Metropol - one of his more frequently visited spots - never knew whether to cringe or salivate when they received word of his arrival. On the weekends Garcia would lose a few hundred thousand dollars at the roulette wheel then in a flash win a little over a million at the blackjack table.
For Garcia, notoriety excited him more then the money. He drew crowds like a celebrity and women clamored to get his attention. Most of the time they got more attention then they ever intended.
As soon as they entered the hotel, Yuri passed Garcia t
he card key for his reserved presidential suite. The routine never altered each time Garcia arrived in Moscow. The gold card key slid inside of his pocket and remained there till he reached his room. Garcia didn’t have to check the floor and room number, he already knew it. The room was always the same, just as he like it.
Garcia took a direct path across the marble floored lobby to the elevators. As he passed through the magnificence of the hotel, he hardly noticed the whispers and onlookers that were mesmerized by the arrival of the legend. Garcia ran Moscow and as his personal play pen, attention, good as well as bad, was commonplace.
The added attention never bothered him. He accepted it with open arms because it was part of the package of being Garcia. None of it ever derailed his concentration. Lack of focus had never been a weak point for Garcia.
In fact, the combination of his unwavering focus and natural calculating ability made him the person he was. He mastered just about anything he decided to take on. His computer like attention now all centered on the poker tournament.
The exclusive competition lacked the notoriety of other well known more commercial events but in small circles remained the top tournament. In Moscow, this event was top honor for the true professional poker players. It remained as it had always been as an invitation only event with just ten players.
The twenty five thousand dollars entry fee permitted a payout of five hundred thousand dollars to the winner. Once the players received an invitation they salivated at taking down the others to get to the half million dollar prize but the title was for more valuable. The money never motivated Garcia; for him it was only about the status.
Just before Garcia arrived at the elevators he noticed several men gawking at a tall waitress. She moved past the bar with a tray balanced in her hand and her Ukrainian features glowing from afar. Her long dirty blonde hair extended along her bare back dangling over a thin waist line. The tight black form fitting skirt moved in hypnotic motions guided by the ample curves beneath.
She turned just in time to meet the contemplating eyes of Garcia. Once their eyes locked she stopped. She then walked from the opposite side of the hotel right up to him to join him in front of the elevators.
“Hello Mr. Garcia, so nice to see you again.” she said.
Garcia squinted then scratched the side of his face as he peered closer at her. “Again,” he said then paused before pressing the elevator button. “Have we met?”
She gave him a forced smile. “Yes, well, in a way. I was your waitress last time you were at the hotel.”
Garcia lit his cigarette tilting his head from one side to the other. His eyes traced along her body thoughtfully moving down and back up again. The waitress took a step back as her eyes diverted away. She lifted the tray higher to conceal her outfit.
He had no recollection of their former meeting but it didn’t matter. She sparked his interested now. He removed the cigarette from his mouth then took her hand inside of his. He placed a soft kiss on the top surface.
“You should join me for dinner at the Evropeisky Restaurant here in the hotel.”
She lowered her head and replied while staring still at the floor. “That is very flattering Mr. Garcia but-”
Out of nowhere Yuri popped into the scene and conversation. “Hello again Mr. Garcia, may I introduce you to Nadia, one of our best waitresses.”
Yuri’s introduction cut off the young beauty’s sentence before she could complete it. “Nadia was just about to clock in and begin her shift but she is more then welcomed to spend the evening with you if you wish.” Yuri added.
Nadia slashed her eyes at Yuri. Her pupils spread wide as she shook her head. She parted her lips to form the words that would allow her to pass on the invitation.
Yuri raised a daring eyebrow.
When the elevator doors opened, Garcia stepped inside. He placed the cigarette back into his mouth then drew in a line of nicotine. A flow of smoke released fro his tight lips into the closed compartment.
“I’ll see you in my suite later Miss Nadia,” Garcia smiled.
* * *
After the elevators doors closed Nadia’s eyes pleaded with Yuri. “I need to work today. I need the tips and I have no interest in this Garcia. He gave me a very generous tip last time and I was hoping to be his waitress again, nothing more. I have husband.”
Yuri turned to his reflection in the outer polished surface of the gold plated walls. He adjusted his tie then checked the setting of the matching silk handkerchief in his jacket pocket.
He pulled the handkerchief out, refolded it, and then placed back in position to his satisfaction. His removed his monogrammed silver plated comb from the interior of his jacket and carefully moved through the side of his thin silver hair.
“Mrs. Micallef, I personally promised Mr. Garcia that he is welcomed to anything in this hotel. So as long as you are employed at the Metropol that would include you. Also until your husband is spending an access of fifty-five thousand rubles here per night at my hotel, I’m afraid that your marriage is of no matter to me.”
With that said, Yuri walked away to exchange small talk with a few of the hotel guest. He occasionally cut his eyes toward Nadia noticing how she remained in the same spot staring at the floor.
She didn’t have to tell Yuri of her troubles, he was well aware of them. Her situation at home had grown worse over the past few months. Her husband last his job due to his drinking so for now her income took care of all the bills.
As for Garcia, he knew that he made her feel uncomfortable. Garcia had that effect on everyone, including him. But what could he do?
She still had not moved. Finally she lifted her head, placed the tray on a nearby table, and then walked towards the rear exit. That reaction was not what he predicted. Yuri’s head dropped in disappointment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mike prepared himself to deal with whatever was about to come his way. Typically, this came natural for him. His ability to find fast solutions to the most unexpected issues even amazed him at times. That level of calm sensible thinking transformed with the information he had just received from his son. He could not understand the situation or even begin to come up with a levelheaded solution.
How this could have happened? I had been so careful, beyond careful.
The Dallas skies darken treating a potential downpour. Dreaded impressions of what could evolve simulated the spreading gray clouds that loomed overhead. The very information that Mike didn’t want anyone, especially Garcia to have was somehow acquired. Exactly how he had no idea. A clap of thunder forced him to snap away from his thoughts. The rain poured down in heavy sheets.
The conversation with his son replayed in his head over and over. With every examination came a more intense measure of worry. The internal struggle to push away the acceptance of certainty or find a logical reason to deny it remained in place. He replayed the phone conversation once more.
“Hey dad! Guess what? I figured out how to call you back using the caller ID! Cool huh!”
“Oh ok buddy. Well daddy is happy that you know how to use caller ID, but this is not daddy’s phone so.”
“Oh, daddy I can’t wait for my birthday party! It is gonna be the best. Me and my buddy John and the Wiz talk about it everyday at school! You remember the Wiz right, his real name is Walter but everybody calls him the Wiz cause… Well…oh I almost forgot, even my uncle Garcia said he will be there. He called and said that he was going to bring a gift and everything! I didn’t even know I had an Uncle Garcia, anyway, I told him about where we were going and everything!”
“You did?”
“Yeah- oh, mom’s calling me. I better go I think it’s time to eat, love you dad!” The call ended leaving Mike in his current mental tail spin.
Mike’s back pressed against a psychological wall, strategically placed and arranged by the madness of Garcia. No one had Danny’s phone number except for his mother. Was there a connection? The things that he th
ought Garcia knew about him were obviously drastically underestimated. If Garcia could get his son’s phone number then his reach was virtually limitless.
He had to fix this. Anything related to Danny had always been off limits. Every since he parted ways with Danny’s mother, he kept that entire area of his life private. Their short lived love affair produced a lot of fighting, some crazy times, and Danny. The union ended quickly but for the sake of Danny the friendship remained then eventually flourished.
The very existence of Danny remained a well guarded secret, or so he thought. Instincts guided Mike more then anything and his instincts prompted him to keep his personal life separate from the rest of the world.
Now the thought came to mind that he had allowed Garcia to control his actions even when he was not around. The secrecy, he now realized, may have been unconsciously inspired by Garcia. Perhaps in some odd way he anticipated that the past would catch up with him.
Action had to be taken and the reasons were now irrelevant. The game elevated far past personal and Mike did not like getting backed into a corner. This state of affairs forced his hand to participate in a toxic competition. The game would entail an on the job training exercise with no true winners. The likely option of everyone losing was the betting edge.
From the moment Garcia reappeared in Mike’s life the same question existed. Just how much did Garcia know? The once certainty was that he knew far too much. The most precious thing in the world for Mike involved the relationship with his son. With that in jeopardy, guilt from his dark history took second seat to the primal instinct to protect.
God help the wolf who wonders into the path between a mother bear and her cubs.
The skies darkened more as the rain continued to pour. An arrival of thunderstorms threatened the city with the indescribable scent of heavy moisture in the air. The smell existed more in theory and less in a visual realm. Theory or not the scent always preceded the most treacherous of storms.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
During the month of September, the temperature in Moscow rarely past fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Garcia usually scheduled his trips for July when the average temperature was over sixty degrees and the city had the maximum amount of daylight hours. On this trip, primarily for business purposes, he had to settle for a less then ideal time. He would have to reschedule a pleasure trip.
